


Heal Me

by ZoeyTear



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, War, World War One, johnlock au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeyTear/pseuds/ZoeyTear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is sent to The Somme with his brother, but is quickly brought back home to England after his first traumatic day of fighting. While recovering in St. Bartholomew's hospital in London, Sherlock meets Dr. John Watson who he quickly discovers he has feelings for. Would they be able to hide such a relationship? And is it truly worth it?<br/>(unfinished)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this chapter to my Dad, who helped me look up World War One facts. Also, this is just a starter chapter. In this chapter, I will tell you the basic knowledge you need to know for the rest of the story. Once we get onto chapter two, the story will liven up a bit more, so bear with me. Thanks!
> 
> I do not own any of the characters in this story, bar original creations. I recognise that BBC own the Sherlock characters I am writing about.

_I don't think I ever believed in a God. Which is probably a good thing. If I had believed in a God, a God who was supposed to look after all sacred life, a God who was meant to guide me...I think I would have been harshly disappointed after all I had been through.  You see, if there was some other being who loved each and everyone one of us. If there was a being who even sometimes showed itself to us, to tell us which way to go, to help us, this creature would not condone war. Or death. So much death._

_I remember thinking all of this as I lay on an uneven, muddy ground. I thought this as I saw my brother die. I thought this as I lay bleeding for hours and hours. I can still hear the sounds of blood gurgling in the men's throats around me. Bang! Bang! Bang! The young men who had boasted in training, the men who had said they would take on the enemy single-handedly, were now lying beside me. Some were already dead, some were whimpering pathetically. I don't blame them. The pain was unbearable._

_As I saw my own blood mix with the mud, I was thankful that I didn't believe in God._

My name is Sherlock Holmes. I'm a detective. I have been for some years now, but I had a life before that. I feel as if my life has gone in three stages. Stage one, pre-war. Stage two, war and the recovery that followed. Stage three, forgetting it. I dream of stage one. I dream of a time when I didn't know how loud bombs were, of a time where I still had my brother, of a time before I met the love of my life.

I was sixteen when the war started. My brother was three years older than me, meaning that he could go. My mother didn't want either of us to be brought to the front, no matter how eager we both were to prove our strengths. Oh, how childish we were. Father was always quiet. He made it clear that he would have no say in whether Mycroft enrolled or not. He did insist that I didn't lie about my age. Despite how much I said I wasn't afraid, I am grateful that he didn't make me go.

We were a rich family. People in the village referred to us as 'Holmes, you know, the ones with the big house up the lane'. Being the richest family in a small town was probably one of the reasons me and my brother found ourselves being bullied, but in retrospect, those bullies were the least of our worries.

Luckily, Mycroft was never made enrol. Any time troops came to our town for volunteers, the volunteers got there before Mycroft. If only it had stayed that way every time. 

By the time me and my brother were made enrol, I was nineteen and he was twenty two. We had been very, very lucky. We had dodged so many attempts at bringing young men to fight, but our luck ran out. 

We were tested to see if we were fit enough to fight. I was a bit lanky and Mycroft was a bit chubby, but we passed the test. 

Mother hated to see us go and Father cried for the first time in my life. She gave us a packed lunch and told us how handsome we looked in our uniforms (me and Mycroft rolled our eyes in response). Dad told us how proud he was. He said that we were brave boys fighting for a good cause. He may have believed we were brave, but neither of my parents believed that we should have to fight. I didn't know better. I was happy to serve. I was happy to be ignorant. I was being made a slave to fight some other person's war, and my parents knew that. They were right not to tell me and Mycroft, or else we would have ran.

After our goodbye, me and Mycroft set out for our training together. I gained some muscle while Mycroft lost some weight. We would try and spend time with each other, seeing as he was the only person I felt comfortable around in this alien place, and he felt the same towards me. 

I was put in the infantry and I thank pure luck that Mycroft was too. So, we practised how to use rifles, we practised basic discipline, first aid and how to defend ourselves from a gas attack. 

We were being taught all these ways to kill, all these ways to  _avoid_  being killed and yet it hadn't sunk in yet. And, I was supposed to be smart. It hadn't sunk in, the harsh reality, that these people expected me to kill other soldiers. Kill. Murder. End their lives. What right did I have to kill someone? I had no right to put a bullet through anyone's brain, none at all. But, it hadn't hit me yet. 

Looking back, I feel like Mycroft may have realised before I did. He really was brave, staying even though he knew how easy it would be for him to die. I know that he stayed for me. He stayed to protect me and I wish he didn't.

Eventually it was time for us to be brought where we were needed. I was eager to finally get away from the training camp, into a different country. How exciting was that? Continental Europe, never touched before by my feet and I was so excited to go. 

I was brought to Somme.

As soon as I arrived, fresh faced and clean, my doubt started to creep in. These other men didn't look so happy. These trenches reeked and the air was stale.

Me and Mycroft and the rest of the men who had come with us were not put to the front straight away. We stayed behind, doing more training for an entire week. We were too far back to be hurt, but we could hear the bombs, we could hear screaming and we saw the people carried back on stretchers to the dressing station, belt buckled across bullet wounds in their legs. Some of the people carried stared at nothing, their dead eyes frozen in terror.

Then finally, after that last week of training, me and Mycroft were brought to the front. It was cold. It was raining and a man walked in front of us, saying that if we saw anyone refusing to fight, we were to shoot them. His words shocked me, and it was then that I  _truly_  understood that I was being used. I was just a pawn and these people didn't actually care about me or if I died. I was just one person among so many.

The air was cold against my face and I kept my fingers on my rifle, trying not to think of it slipping at an inconvenient time just because of the rain. I was next to Mycroft and I saw him give me a nervous smile, before looking back at the ladder we would have to climb up as soon as that whistle sounded. 

I was scared. I was so scared and there was no one to save me. No one was going to save me. I was going to die out here and I would lay, trampled upon and forgotten. I looked back at Mycroft one last time with frightened eyes and the whistle sounded. 


	2. Chapter Two

It was so loud. At the sound of the whistle, an almighty  _roar_ came from the men around me. I couldn't tell if they were actually enthusiastic about the violence that was about to happen, or if they were trying to act tough, trying to give themselves confidence. 

There was a rush forward and I was frozen. Mycroft looked at me and grabbed my shoulder, jerking me forward so I would not be shot for cowardice. My mind cleared and my hand shot out, latching onto my brother's uniform as we pulled ourselves up to where the battle was starting. 

As soon as my feet  hit  ground, the earth near to me and Mycroft erupted and we were thrown sideways. The men who had been standing exactly at the explosion were blasted off their feet and I remember crying out and getting dirt in my mouth.

Mycroft hauled me to my feet, and with other men around us, we advanced. I had no idea what I was doing. I held my rifle and I moved forward, trying to stay next to Mycroft the whole time. Crash after crash banged against my ear drums and I started to see men dropping like flies just ahead of me. Their deaths were accompanied with a continuous, deafening rattle. Machine guns. 

Me and Mycroft realised what was happening a little too late and my brother tried to drag us down to avoid bullets, but he was just that second too late.

A bullet found its way to my leg and lodged itself deep in my thigh. I cried out and went down, still holding onto Mycroft's uniform. I felt tears pool up in my eyes and I gasped at the unbelievable heat and excruciating pain coming from my leg. It paralysed me for a minute. The shock pinned me down to the ground and I tore my hand away from Mycroft to press against the wound, trying desperately to find some relief from the hot pain. Blood spilled out onto my trembling fingers and I cried out. 

"My-Mycroft." I whimpered, the paralysis finally falling away. I couldn't move from my hips down, but I managed to force myself up with the strength of my arms to get my brother. 

His face was ruined. His eyes were unseeing as blood spilled from the back of his head and created an alarmingly large pool of blood. 

I felt my stomach drop and twist and flip. "No." I choked out. I had no fight left in me. I was weak and bleeding quickly, but I forced myself to drag myself closer to my brother. I cried out and tears leaked from my eyes, but eventually I made it. 

"No, no, no, Mycroft, no." I cupped his cheeks, feeling his hot and sticky blood get on my fingers. "Stop it." I sobbed, giving his body a little shake. His head lolled and blood trickled down his face. "PLEASE!" I cried out, staring down at him.

Finally, it started to sink in. He was dead. Mycroft was dead and I would die too. I would bleed myself dry waiting for someone to take me away from this place. 

I remember how much I shook. I trembled so terribly, so violently and I kept myself over my brother's body, as if protecting him. "P-Please." I whispered, trying to blink away the hole in Mycroft's head. The hole that had ripped through that brilliant brain of his. All those memories. All that intellect. It was just...gone. This wasn't my brother anymore. This was a useless slab of meat below me and I could not detach myself from it. 

I can't really remember how long I lay there for. Eventually, I remembered seeing other men with wounds similar to my own. So, still whimpering in pain, I tugged off my belt and then wrapped it around my leg, just next to my bullet wound to try and stem the flow of blood.

The sounds slowly became less and less.  I could hear men crying and moaning in pain around me, near and far. The air was  _dark._ It was heavy with dust and dirt and the stench of blood and gun powder. Occasionally, there would be another  _boom_ and then it would go silent again. 

I never let myself lose contact with Mycroft. I trembled and stayed beside him, protecting him from being more ruined than he was. I knew he was gone from this body, but the thought of seeing it even more mangled than it was made my chest ache. 

And still I lay. Waiting. Waiting for a rescue I wasn't quite sure I even wanted now. Did I want to live after seeing what I had seen? I would not lie. At that moment in time, I would have prefered to have been left to die by my brother's side. I didn't want to have to face...Moving on. How quaint does that sound? How ridiculous is it to think that anyone could ever move on from this?

"Mycroft." I whispered. It was still dark and I was starting to realise it was because it was now nighttime. How long had I been here? How long had I lain next to a corpse and wept? "Mycroft, I can't do this." 

Luckily...I didn't have to. I didn't have to do this anymore, because I became weary. I became weary and I lost consciousness. My ears became muted to the sounds around me and I slept. Again, I don't know for how long.

When I woke, it was silent. The air around me looked brown, maybe green and I could barely breath from the dust in the air. I felt Mycroft below me and I remembered with a jolt what had happened. I cried out and pulled away from him, making an unbelievable course of pain wash through me. I was temporarily blinded from the pain, and when I opened my eyes again, they fell on Mycroft. 

He looked so gaunt. His face was paler and the blood had dried, turning dark and more brown in colour. I whimpered and pressed a hand against my leg, suddenly realising that I was alive. Alive in a sea of dead people. This was not how I wanted to die.

"Help!" My scream ripped through the air, hoarse and unnerving in this deadly silence. Once I had managed to get over the fear of being so loud in this dead world, I kept screaming. "Help me!"

Was I being an idiot? Yes, I was. My fellow soldiers weren't the only ones present. There were the men we had been fighting against. I would have to leave Mycroft and try drag my way back. Leave Mycroft.

Crying out in pain, I moved back to him and rested my still-shaking hand on his cheek. "Thank you." I whispered. Thank you for looking out for me all my life and thank you for staying with me til the end. "Thank you, Mycroft." I would have kissed his forehead if that wound hadn't looked so terrifying. So, instead, I pressed a kiss onto the back of his hand, which was frozen in shape, fingers curled from when he had grabbed onto me. I said his name one last time and looked at his face, then I looked up into the sea of dead people. I wasn't too far from help. 

I dragged myself and cried, tears making tracks through the blood and dirt on my face. I finally started to hear voices. People were close by and I would be saved. I saw stretchers being brought up for the wounded and I made a noise to try and make myself known. 

I started to black out again and the last thing I was aware of was two pairs of boots running towards me. I heard myself sigh in relief, and then I gave into the approaching darkness.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't uploaded in a month, seeing as I've been having major writer's block. I still sort of have it, but I knew this needed updating, so...I hope this suffices. Do enjoy.

I slept for some time, and I'm thankful that I did. I'm glad I don't remember the next part in detail. From the stretcher I was brought back to the trenches and to the dressing station. I slipped in and out of consciousness constantly, but I mostly just remember a heavy feeling of murkiness. 

People's voices were slow and everyone sounded worried. There were howls of pain and whimpers of agony. The army doctors tried their best to save everyone, but it was so packed. There were so many wounded in this small, small space and everything smelt of copper.

I don't remember it, but apparently I was brought to another, larger cleaning station by a field wagon. I don't recall it, but men later told that the wagons were always full and stuffed with as many wounded soldiers as possible. Everyone was so desperate to save who they could. Everyone was so desperate to get back home.

Once I reached the second cleaning station, I was patched up a bit more efficiently. The bleeding had obviously stopped. All this took about two days. 

I was put on a train to a base hospital that was in Boulogne. Everything was just so sombre. Even if you were excited to soon be going home, you could not vocalise it. For many reasons. Maybe you were too shell shocked to even realise that you were finally feeling something positive again. Or, maybe you didn't want to be the one smiling man beside a hundred others who were all drawn and frowning. 

I stayed in the hospital in Boulogne for a week. This was a vital stage of my recovery. I was still in pain and I still wasn't really thinking as clearly as I was used to, but I was recovering physically. 

The nights weren't enjoyable. Nightmares woke me too many times for me to be able to get a good, healthy night's sleep. The nurses near me would attempt to calm me, speaking in French. But sometimes in the night someone would die. They didn't have time for me and my nightmares if there was a dead soldier. 

I was a little petty, but sometimes when it was the middle of the night, and it was deadly quiet, I would shut my eyes and try to imagine Mycroft was in the bed beside me. It made me relax. It made me relax long enough to fall asleep, but then I'd only be woken by either nightmares or a nurse telling me it was time for my medicine.

Finally, after a week in Boulogne, I was packed on a boat full of other soldiers to Dover, back in England. 

England. Oh, God. I had never realised how much I had appreciated the place. It was home. It was wet and cold and home. 

I wondered if my parents knew about Mycroft yet. Or if I was coming home. I missed them the most. I missed having contact with another human. There was so many people around me, and I even conversed with a few. Doctors and nurses, and fellow soldiers who told tales of interesting nights in the trenches. Many talked about the women they were going home to. They were all so convinced in proposing to these women.

I stayed quiet. I was hurt enough as it was. I didn't need to be beaten up for my secret feelings I'd had since I was a boy.

Yet, even after talking to so many, I still managed to feel more alone in my life now more than ever. And, that was saying a lot. 

Once I reached Dover, I was put on another bloody train to London. I was being taken to a hospital there to complete my healing and start something called physiotherapy. The hospital was called St. Bartholomew's. I had never heard of it before. I just hoped it would help me heal completely.  
The train was loud. It was packed with other soldiers, who were finally letting smiles show on their faces. They were excited to go home. They were happy to be alive for their parent's sake, or their girlfriend's sake. 

They played cards and talked. They sang songs and after a while, many brought out instruments. Fiddles, violins and harmonicas were passed about to those who played them. 

I thought about my violin back at home and I suddenly had a strange and overwhelming urge to play it. I didn't join in with the other soldiers, but some part of me wished someone had asked me if I wanted to play their violin. 

Once in London, we were all taken to the hospitals we were assigned to. I had always been a quiet person. I didn't enjoy speaking with many people. They were all so bloody stupid. But, I couldn't recall a time where I had been this quiet. I hadn't opened my mouth to speak in a couple of days now, so when I was asked my name in St.Bartholomew's, my voice didn't sound like myself.  
I was taken to the bed I was would use. It was in the corner of a big room, full of other beds and other wounded soldiers. Some of the men were much more severely wounded than myself. It was odd to feel grateful for just a bullet wound.   
After a short while of me just sitting up on my bed, staring at the wooden wall beside me, a nurse walked over. 

"Sir, can you give me your name?"

I dragged my eyes over to her. No older than twenty four. Her brother died in the war. She looked so tired. 

"Sherlock Holmes."

She frowned and started flicking the pages on her clipboard. "The only 'Holmes' we have here is a 'William Holmes'."

"Oh." I said dumbly, my mouth dry. Why was everything so murky and...dry? "That's me. I'm William on my birth certificate, but people call me Sherlock." 

I heard myself. I sounded toneless. Dead. Uninterested. Which was odd, because I had quite missed speaking to people.

She nodded and scribbled something down. "How were you wounded?"

"Got shot in my leg." I said in a rather monotonous voice. 

"How's the pain? On a scale of one to ten?"

I thought about it for a moment, then sighed wearily. Everything happened too slow in my mind. "Maybe a five. I don't know. I can't really feel anything."

She didn't answer to that, but wrote something else down. "Where were you-?"

She was interrupted by another nurse. "Dr. Watson wants you for a moment, I'll take over?" she murmured to her.

The nurse who had been talking to me nodded, gave her the clipboard and pen, then hurried away, fixing her apron as she walked briskly out of the room.

"Now," The new nurse said. "My name's Maggie. Where were you stationed, William?"


	4. Chapter Four

My parents made a fuss. They seemed to forget that there were hundreds of other men that had been wounded. Hundreds of other men who needed beds and looking after and peace. They proclaimed loudly to the room I was in that it was a disgrace I had to be sharing the air with these other men. Meanwhile, I kept my head down in shame and embarrassment. 

Mother was frailer and my father looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. That could easily have been the case. Their son had died, and their other son couldn't walk. They had been sent a letter in the post that had told them of Mycroft's death and of my condition. Obviously, they were heartbroken and distraught of our loss of my brother, but I do believe that it was my survival that kept them alive. So, they may have embarrassed me when they arrived, shouting out about my living conditions, but it was only because I was all they had left. And that's nothing to be shameful about.

Once the nurses had tried to explain just how many men they were looking after in this hospital, my parents' faces had grown paler, and they had started to understand that it was in no way possible for me to have my own private recovery room.

They sat by my bedside, still grumbling about my lack of privacy, but it was only half-hearted complaining now. Once they settled down they were just happy to be able to speak to me once again.

"Are you in pain, dear?" My mother eventually asked. From the way she had said it, I could tell the thought of me in constant pain was obviously something she and father had discussed and worried over before seeing me.

I sighed and looked down at my legs, covered by the awful, itchy blanket. "It was a lot worse before." I said. That was all I could give. Of course I was in pain, but why add another burden to my parents' shoulders? So, I bent the truth and avoided telling them about the burning numbness in my thigh.

Mother nodded, and I was glad I had lied. The look of relief on both my parents' faces was almost painful to see. "We're sorry we haven't been down before now." she said.

"No, no, I'm being well looked after here." I nodded, my voice still sounded strange to my own ears. "I think my physiotherapist is leaving for a different hospital, though." I sighed. "So, I'll have another doctor take over. I believe he studied here, from what I heard."

My father nodded. "That's good. He'll help get you back to normality, son."

I smiled weakly. Or at least I tried to. I'm not quite sure if it actually showed. "Yeah." I heard myself say.

"Mr. Holmes?" a nurse came over to me. My father looked up. Usually he was the one addressed as Mr. Holmes, but today it was me who they were asking for.

"Yes?"

"We found an old parting curtain if you still want a more private area." She said, smiling kindly. Nurse Hooper. She was nice and she had taken a liking to me. I could see that it had taken quite some effort to get this parting curtain for me, so while I thought the whole ordeal was unnecessary, I found myself thanking her and letting her put it up around my bed and my parents.

"Oh, that's much better, Will'." My father said to me. I forced another smile onto my face and nodded. 

They mistook my unease for tiredness and looked to each other, signalling with their eyes. "Sherlock, dear, I think we better get back to our hotel room for the night. You look like you could do with a nice sleep."

I just nodded after a moment. "Yeah, okay." I said softly. I wished I was more energetic. That way I could put their minds to rest. I could make them feel happier about leaving me in this hospital. "It was really nice to see both of you." I managed to get out after a moment. I meant it and I hoped they knew it.

My mother gave me a sad, knowing smile and nodded as they stood. "It is wonderful to see you too, Sherlock." She gave my forehead a kiss. My father placed a kiss in the same place, then pulled away. 

"See you soon, son."

I nodded, watching them walk out of the curtain surrounding my bed and out of sight. I waited thirty seconds to make sure they were gone, before I felt tears surface in my eyes. Suddenly I was a lot more grateful about these stupid curtains. Turns out I did need this privacy. 

My shoulders started shaking and I could feel the panic bubbling up in me. This was all so wrong. My brother was dead. I was stuck in this hospital. All alone. The one person who had understood me was  _gone._ My parents had lost a child and everything was wrong, wrong, wrong!

The curtain opened and my hands shot up to hastily wipe at my eyes. 

"I can...come back later?" A young man's voice said. 

"No." I grumbled, embarrassed that someone had seen me crying. I finished drying my eyes and cheeks, then looked up. He was short. Shorter than me. Sandy-blond hair. He couldn't have been  _too_ much older than me, but still older. He had fought briefly. He too had been shot. Obviously, he had wanted to keep helping once he had healed. "...Who are you?" I asked.

"I'm your new doctor. John Watson." he said, giving me a kindly smile, but I could feel his eyes taking me in, making sure I was okay after seeing me crying. 

"You're Doctor Watson?" I asked, my voice sounded slightly more nasal than usual due to my crying. All the nurses talked about him. They all thought he was cute and handsome and gentlemanly. I banished my own opinions about his looks to the back of my mind, fearful of my own thoughts.

He nodded and stepped inside, letting the curtain fall shut behind him. He was wearing a light brown v-neck jumper with a green shirt and a tie. Over, he wore a white coat and he clutched a clipboard against his chest. "Yes, I'm John Watson." he repeated, smiling a little in amusement.

I don't know what it was, but something about hearing his name made my heart ache and I wanted to know everything about his man. In one second. I suddenly wanted to know all there was to know about Doctor John H. Watson. I briefly wondered what the 'H' stood for, having seen his name printed on pieces of paper.

"Oh." I heard myself say and I stayed looking up at him.

He hesitated and opened his mouth to speak, but I already knew what he was going to ask.

"Sherlock-"

"Yes, I'm alright. I just had a visit from my parents, that's all." I tried to explain as neutrally as I could.

He took a moment before nodding and graciously letting the conversation fall aside. "Well, anyway. I just thought you might like to meet me. I'm going to be your new physiotherapist. I work a little differently from your previous doctor, but we'll still reach our wanted outcome. We'll get you walking with no hassle in no time."

I, again, couldn't form a proper response. I nodded. "Okay."

He bit his lip and gave me an odd sort of smile that made butterflies appear in my stomach. "I'll be seeing you later today, Sherlock. Try and get some rest." John nodded, before stepping out.

My eyes lingered on where he had been and I frowned, still experiencing the odd feeling the man had brought to me once he had started speaking.


	5. Chapter Five

I had drifted off into an oddly pleasant sleep. Crying tended to make me tired, and after having another good  _weep_ about my parents, I had found myself lying against my pillow, my mind tricking me into thinking it was this soft, soft paradise that would take me away...

"Sherlock!" I heard my name being called and grumbled a little, still half asleep. I hadn't been dreaming until now. Hearing my own name seemed to rouse my mind a little and bring it to life. 

"No, don't..." I heard myself mumble, some part of me conscious and telling myself to wake up completely. 

"Sherlock, come on. Time to wake up-"

I jolted in my sleep, eyes snapping open. I gasped, trying to get my senses back to me. My bleary eyes travelled up to find that young doctor from before. Dr. Watson. "Oh...What are you...?"

I saw Dr. Watson's smile change to a much kinder one as I got myself out of my slumber. My first peaceful sleep in a long time.

"What do you want, I'm not due medicine for another hour at least." I grumbled, my voice oddly gravely from sleep.

He pulled himself up straight, still wearing that terribly cheery smile. "It's time for your physiotherapy. I take you at a later time than your last doctor. He lives outside of London, you see, so he had to leave earlier seeing as he had to travel farther, and I don't so..." He caught my 'not-caring' expression and just nodded, catching himself. "So, I'll take you now. I have a wheelchair and a nurse will bring you down as soon as you can." 

I nodded with an annoyed huff of air blown from my nose, before I motioned over to Nurse Hooper to help me into my wheelchair. She shuffled over, fixing her apron as she did.

"Hello, Sherlock." she smiled, putting her hands under my armpits. I'd gone beyond the stage of caring where they put their hands on me. What needed to be done, had to be done, and I had to let them do it. For my own health. So I could get better. She hoisted me into my wheelchair and I gave a pained grunt as I landed in the seat.

She bit her lip, pulling back to see my face with a pitying expression. "Sorry, Mr. Holmes, but you will get better. That's why you're here." She gave me a smile, then started walking me out of the room and into the hallways.

"I hear you've been assigned to Doctor Watson." she said. I could hear the smile in her voice and I rolled my eyes. Oblivious to my lack of enthusiasm in this conversation, she continued to rattle on about the great and the wonderful John Watson.

"Did you know that he also fought?"  _Yes._ "He volunteered to fight in the first year. Poor sod got terribly shook up after he got shot, but look how strong he is. Came back fighting fit...Well, not fighting. But you know what I mean. He was ready to help in whatever way he could."

Hooper stopped outside the wooden door with a single glass pane in the centre that led into the room used for physiotherapy. God, I hated it. I knew it was making me better, but it made me look so weak! I could barely walk and it was humiliating. I was like an infant and I could feel, hear, see people's pity around me. I didn't want their pity. I wanted support, yet at the same time I wanted to speak to no one. Oh, my head was rather jumbled up.

"Alright, Sherlock." her voice went softer. "You'll be okay. I can see how tense you are." She gave me a friendly smile. "That's okay." Her hand went to my shoulder, squeezing gently. "Now, in you go. Dr. Watson is nice" She nodded encouragingly, opening the door for me.

I tried a smile for her, then started to wheel myself in, not really knowing if the smile had appeared on my lips or not. It was a large room. It could have fit many more hospital beds, but instead, there was a desk by the large windows, filing cabinets scattered around it. In the centre of the room there were the bars. The  _dreaded bars._

Two metal poles shot up from the floor, about half a metre apart from each other. Like railings, they ran down the room for three metres then stopped. All I had to do was hold onto the bars for support and walk those three metres. God, it was a lot harder than it sounded. 

Dr. Watson was standing at his desk, leaning against the front of it that jutted out into the room. "Hello, Sherlock." he smiled, then placed down the file he had been reading. "Let me shut that door for you." he said, then walked across the room to get to the door. I was perfectly capable of shutting the door myself, but for some reason I found myself humouring him, and I let him waste his time in being polite.

"So, today we're going to have you walking  _as much_ as you can on the walking spot." He gestured with his hands to the poles. "I'll be beside you. I'll catch you if you fall and you have the railings to grab onto if you feel yourself slipping. As per usual, if you start to feel light-headed or fatigued, tell me  _straight away_ and I'll let you take a rest. This is supposed to help, and yes, it is tiring, but we don't want you  _too_ tired, now, do we?"

I stared up at him and then just shook my head, telling him I agreed. 

He sighed a little to himself, then walked to the railings. "Alright, wheel yourself over." he nodded at me. 

It was my turn to sigh and I did as instructed til I came to stop beside him. "I need help getting up." I said, looking up to him.

Dr. Watson nodded and moved his hands under my arms like Molly had done, but the first thing I noticed was how much stronger he felt. Safer. More secure. I leaned heavily against him, unable to help myself, and winced. "Sorry..."

He shook his head. "Don't worry, I've dealt with people who are a lot worse." he promised. "Now, as soon as you can, grab onto the bars with both hands...And, then I'll tell you when to start walking." 

I had my arms clutched onto his shoulders and I turned my gaze to the bars. Groaning internally, I put one hand out and caught onto a bar, my knuckles going white as I held onto it. Taking a deep breath, I managed to swing my other arm down and I caught myself before I had to put weight onto my leg. 

"Very good, Sherlock." he said in his kind voice, but this time I could also detect something else. Worry? Concern?

"Now, just get used to holding yourself up with the rails...And then gently place your injured leg down, just for a second, just a little bit of pressure."

I nodded and took a moment before doing so. I winced slightly, my face screwing up at the small shoot of pain. 

"Now gradually walk forward, each time trying to put a bit more weight onto your leg." he instructed.

Off I went. It wasn't too bad at first, I took very brief steps on my injured leg, and longer ones on my other. But eventually, as more and more pressure was put on my bad leg, the sweat started to form on my forehead, my neck and I was biting my lip against noises of pain.

"Very good, Sherlock. You're doing so well, just a little bit more."

I stepped forward, but whatever way I did it this time, I ended up feeling a horrible spike of pain shoot right up my injured leg and I yelped, nearly falling. He was surprisingly read to catch me and I let him, leaning in against the doctor for support. My arms were shaking from exertion.

"That was very good. I think that's enough for today, don't you?" 

I nodded, head dipped forward. I could feel the curls at the top of my head brush his shoulder and I pulled back. "Done." I said, feeling exhausted.

He let me go with a sad smile, but told me I had done well. For some reason his approval meant a lot to me.

It was gradual, my feelings for John, but I couldn't ignore them. Any time his hands were on me, my heart tripled in speed. Any time he spoke to me, I could feel my reaction in the heat on my cheeks. It frightened me to know that I was falling in love with my male doctor, but it was also wonderful. It was a wonderful distraction and I really did love him...And a part of me felt like he cared for me too.


	6. Chapter Six

 It was difficult. I had so many people around me, so devoted to in helping me, but it was so terribly difficult. All these trained and truly caring people wanted me to get better. They wanted everyone to get better, but I still managed to feel alone. 

I wanted to move past this. I truly did. I wanted to feel free again. Happy again. I hated the nightmares that plagued me. I hated the pain that wrecked my body, but I was stuck in a paralysis. My life could not move on and I was starting to spiral out of control. Even more so, that was, than I had. 

I had been seeing John for physiotherapy for over a month now and I would have to leave this place soon. I didn't want to leave John. He was the first person I felt myself actually connecting to on the same level with which I had been bonded to my brother. Except it was more intense. I barely understood why.

I had always found myself finding boys attractive when I was growing up. I had never acted upon these feelings. I had never kissed a boy, never told a boy how I felt. I was terrified to be found out. I think Mycroft knew, though. He always knew, he was the smartest person on the planet. He knew everything. 

He would have liked John. I know it. John was kind to me, gentle to me...He made me wish with everything in me that he was like whatever I was. I needed him to also need me. But, he was just my doctor. We were close too, yes, in ways similar to friendship, but maybe that was just more of Dr. Watson doing his job. But, I hoped not.

After the last nurse bid me goodnight and closed the curtains that still surrounded my bed, I lay down and stared at the ceiling. How many days had it been since that dreadful night, anyway? How many nights had I had nightmares? I wasn't even sure if the pain in my leg was real anymore, or completely in my head. It was probably the latter, but I was too afraid to admit that weakness to myself. 

I turned my head and saw the picture my mother had brought me on one of her visits. Me and Mycroft. By a lake. I shut my eyes and tried to transport myself back there. I could hear the lapping of the water, I could feel the warm and wet grass. I could hear my father calling me back from the deeper parts of the lake. I could hear the heavy slosh of water hitting the bank.

Gunshots. Louder and louder by the second. Screaming. Sobbing. My own sobbing. More screaming. Was I screaming? No, someone was calling my name...But, maybe I was also screaming. I just needed to get to him! Mycroft was right there! Right out of reach! I needed to get him away or else-  _Who was calling me so terribly loudly?_

"Mycroft!"

"Sherlock, wake up!"

I woke up in a cold sweat. I couldn't breathe and I could feel the contrasting hot tears on my cheeks. Bent over double in my bed, and creating a terrible agony in my leg, I found myself shaking and mumbling my brother's name in the aftershocks of my nightmare. There was a hand on my shoulder. It was dark.

"Sherlock," Dr. Watson's voice. "Sherlock, you need to breathe. Okay? Look at me, look at me."

Against my own accord, a sob ripped through my chest as I looked up at John, my lungs finding breath again. 

"Good, very good." He said to me, his voice wonderfully soothing. I couldn't see him properly, but I could feel the weight of him beside me as he sat on my bed. His warmth and weight helped bring me back to reality. "Very good." he repeated, his hand now soothingly caressing my arm. "You're okay."

I watched him and nodded. "Sorry." I whispered. "Oh, God...Sorry, was I loud?"

"Shh, no, it's okay." he smiled and I could see his eyes twinkle in the dark. "It's okay, everyone understands."

I raised a hand to wipe at my eyes. "I can't do this any more."

"Do what?" John whispered back to me. The room was quiet around us, so I assumed that everyone else had gone back to sleep.

"Live, Dr. Watson!" I snapped. "I can't live like this. I'm a fool! I had  _one_ experience out there. Where they fight. There are men in here who fought plenty of times and I'm a  _coward_ for being so bloody affected after just one time!"

John shook his head and I felt him shift closer. "No, don't say that." for the first time, in his concern, I also heard a panic. "Sherlock, you mustn't give up now. Don't try and compare yourself to others. No one is competing with you. No is trying to fight for 'who's gotten it worse'." I felt his warm hand travel down and wrap itself around my own cold and long fingers. "Please don't say you want to give up."

I observed him through the dark. "You care." I eventually whispered out. The air around me felt  _thick._ For the first time I almost felt as if John could possibly care for me as deeply as I appreciated him. "You actually care about me as if...As if you don't have hundreds of other patients."

Dr. Watson didn't respond for quite a few moments, and the slowly ticking seconds made my stomach turn. But, eventually he did speak. "You're different."

Suddenly John sounded shy. He was showing me a vulnerable side to him and I couldn't quite believe my luck. "I am?" I found myself breathing out in the softest whisper. 

John's sparkling eyes met mine and he did what we both thought felt right in that moment. He leaned in and he kissed my lips. 

I still remember it. I never admitted this to John, but that was my first kiss. He probably knew. All I could hear was John's breaths and my own beating heart. Maybe the faint ticking of a clock. The room was so incredibly dark, that I couldn't remember when I had shut my eyes.  His lips were dry and mine were wet and for some odd reason that seemed to work in our chaste kiss. I don't recall our lips moving much, but they were touching and each shared breath we had calmed me down. 

"Please don't give up." he whispered, so terribly quiet that I had to strain to catch what John had said. Before I could reply, his hand had moved up and cupped my cheek. "You'll be okay, I promise." he continued in that fantastically soft voice. "I'll take care of you. I'll help you heal. Please don't give up."

Despite everything, I heard two words tumble from my clumsy and inexperienced lips. "I wont."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once I've finished this story (We have about six chapters to go), I am going to publishing a re-write of it on Tumblr for those who dislike reading first-person fics. It will all be in third person. I'll let you know when I've published it.

I didn't want it to be some stupid clichéd romance that would make my life seem worth living again, but I couldn't help it. I was in love with John and he loved me too. I knew I still had healing to do myself. I had to process what had happened to me in my head and try not to depend on any one else. Yet, John was always there. Helping me. And his presence stopped me from giving up. It was amazing how much affection could alter your mental state.

 

I only had a few weeks left in this place. I had long given up on listening to news on the war. I didn't know if it was over. I didn't want to know what was happening and I had told the nurses never to inform me. I wanted nothing to do with this war. It had ruined my life. I know that it brought me to John, and I know that he was the absolute love of my life, but nothing was worth losing my brother. I hate to say it, but not even John could ever replace the hole in me that was created when Mycroft died.

 

So, me and John made the most of our time left with each other. It shouldn't have been as exciting as it was, but we couldn't help ourselves. If people found out about us, we could very well have been killed. But, the sneaking around gave us a bit of a thrill. It made the fact that we loved each other an even bigger novelty.

 

"Sherlock?" John asked, stepping into the curtains surrounding my bed. I was sitting up in against my pillows with a book, and smiled when I looked up to see him.

 

"Yes, _Dr Watson?_ " I teased lightly. Ever since we had kissed, it had moved onto a first-name-basis relationship. Now it felt odd to call him by his formal name.

 

John rolled his eyes and gave me a smirk. "Your appointment is now. I'm excited about this one, you've been coming along very well."

 

I nodded and placed down my book on the night stand next to my bed. "It's been getting easier to walk. Less painful."

 

John stepped forward, leaving down his clipboard next to my book. "I've noticed." he smiled, reaching for my wheelchair and unfolding it. "Soon, we'll have you using a walking stick instead of this rusty, old thing. And we'll have you on your way."

 

I looked up at him, wondering if he would be upset when I left. John came close, taking my hands to help me to stand. My expression softened as my eyes gazed over his features. "I'll write to you." I whispered quietly.

 

He paused in his movements, hands still wrapped around my own. John's eyes locked with mine and I could sense an insecurity in there, so I gave him a gentle smile. "I promise." I continued in a soft voice.

 

My words managed to tug a smile onto his lips and he placed a swift kiss to my forehead. "Thank you, Sherlock." he murmured quietly, helping me to stand up.

 

I let myself lean in against him until he had me seated in the wheelchair. "All right, let's go." I said, my voice optimistic.

 

I remembered back to the days where I could barely raise my voice loud enough for other people to hear. I realised how far I had come, how much John had helped, and smiled.

 

John wheeled me along down the now familiar corridors to his large office. The one with those dreaded poles. "And how is the pain when you're sitting down?" he asked. "Can you still feel it?"

 

I shook my head. "No, recently, as in the last week, I've noticed that the pain only really occurs when there is pressure put on my leg." I said, before turning my head around to see John behind me. "That's good, right?"

 

He smiled kindly at me, then nodded. "That's very good. We might have you using a walking stick much faster than I had anticipated."

 

When we reached his room, John opened the door and allowed me to push myself inside. Without him having to tell me, I wheeled over to the poles, then glanced back at him, waiting for him to join me.

 

John helped me to my feet again and steered me towards the bars I held onto. "You know how it goes. Take your time. Tell me if you feel faint."

 

I nodded and started as soon as he had stopped speaking, eager to get myself better. It hurt, but it was a bearable sting. I kept my eyes on my shoes as I walked along slowly. I never let myself see where the end was, because if I looked I would either be disappointed at how little I had done, or I would make myself tired by seeing how much strain I had put on my leg. So, when I reached the end point, I looked up in surprise. "John, I did it. In one go. I walked."

 

He was by my side, brimming with happiness for me. "That is absolutely fantastic, Sherlock!" he praised and soon he was cupping both my cheeks and kissing my lips.

 

I laughed a little against his lips, leaning against him for support. He looped an arm around my waist, still kissing me.

 

I was invested in our kiss before I knew it, arms winding around John's shoulders and holding on tight.

 

Though, he was the one to break the kiss. "I'm so proud of you." he whispered.

 

I smiled, watching his lips as they moved, before I looked back up to meet his eyes. "Couldn't have done it without you."

 

John kissed my cheek softly, then brought me the wheelchair to sit down in. When I was comfortable, he knelt down in front of me, placing a hand on my knee.

 

"Is everything all right?" I whispered, placing my hand over his.

 

He gave me a sort of tired smile and nodded. "You're going to be going home very soon, Sherlock. Sooner than I thought."

 

I hated seeing his sadness, so I looked away, taking in a deep breath. "We wont lose touch, John." I said. "I wont allow that to happen."

 

He sighed, lacing our fingers together. "I know." he said in a kind voice. "I'll just miss you,that's all."

 

I looked back at him, beckoning John forward to kiss me. "I'll miss you too, John. But, this is _not_ the end of us." I assured him, and smiled when I saw John smile.

 

"Okay, you." he kissed my lips briefly. "Back to bed. I have other patients." He stood up straight.

 

"Thank you, Dr Watson." I smirked at him, before leaving the room.


	8. Chapter Eight

I had been lying in bed for too long. The morning I would leave the hospital. A small part of me laughed in disbelief, at the back of my mind. How could I be unhappy to leave this place? I hated it from the start, I had just wanted to return home. 

But, how could I have known that I was going to fall head over heals in love with my doctor? I had no idea that someone could possibly make me want to stay in a place like this. John was on my mind as I stared up at the tall ceiling, the ticking clock taking away the minutes I had left.

Judging by the light streaming in the dusty windows, it couldn't be time for me to wake yet. I was leaving at nine to be picked up by my parents, but I guessed I had a few hours left. There weren't as many men as there had been when I arrived. Some had left earlier, unable to treat. Although my recovery had been painful, at least I had had a recovery. I dreaded the thought of an injury so severe that it was untreatable. 

So, the room was quiet. I could hear a few soft breaths from the beds beyond my curtains. After all this time they had stayed up, for no reason really. I suppose I became more thankful for them when I started to want privacy with John. 

Would I want to remember this place? In the future? All there was in here that was valuable in any way to me was John, and I knew he would be in my future without a doubt. Still, I found my eyes going up and down the pinstriped curtains. The fabric was stained in many places with what looked like (and what I hoped was) tea. There were a few marks that were undeniably blood, but there were no patches in large enough quantities to frighten me. 

After staring for far too long, my eyes drifted up to the ceiling. I saw a spider, too far away for me to feel squeamish, travel along a web and dangle for a moment before it found its path again. I started to realise that I was distracting myself. Distracting myself from the fact that when I left, it probably was going to be a while until I saw John again. I had to finish my healing at home. Despite being one of the richest families in town, the war had hit my family economically and trying to get train rides to London every weekend would not be as easy as it used to. 

Maybe I'd save up and then visit John for a lengthy period. Maybe I could even surprise him. I was determined to write letters to him, make sure he was happy in the hospital... I was already feeling miserable and I was still lying in my bed, the day not started. 

I shut my eyes, wondering if sleep would calm my thoughts. But, sleeping would also make time move faster and that was something I didn't want. I gave up after a while, finding myself too stressed out about leaving John to continue to be conscious. I left the grey light of the room for a dreamless sleep.

"Sherlock?" his voice was light. "Sherlock, wake up." he almost sang, voice dropped to a whisper. I felt fingers into my curls, gently massaging, and my eyes opened to see John bent over me, the light in the just a little brighter.

"I hope you don't mind that I've woken you a little early." he whispered, sitting on the edge of my bed. "But, I thought you might like some time before you go. I just got here."

I smiled, still tired, but quite delighted to see him. "I don't mind at all." I whispered back, holding onto John to help myself sit up. "What's the time?"

John looked down to his watch. "Just gone eight o'clock. Breakfast will be in fifteen minutes, then we'll start to get you ready to go." He didn't look into my eyes as he spoke, hands fixing my blankets and my hospital gown, a tiny smile flickering onto his lips occasionally.

"John?" I whispered, stopping his hands and taking them. He looked up at me, finally, his eyes reaching mine.

I remember hesitating terribly here. I had wanted it to be a nicer moment. I had read books when I was younger that mentioned these moments, and I had messed it up rather terribly. I audibly stammered, my brain just stopped working for a second, before I finally whispered out the words. 

"I love you."

Silence. There was silence and it frightened me. He stared at me, and I stared right back. I didn't know what else to do. Then there was a change in his expression, one of his cheeks sucking in, his jaw hardening. I realised he was trying not to cry. 

"Jesus, I didn't mean to upset you!" I whispered in a rush, looking into his eyes, trying desperately to find an answer. "Forget I said it!"

He finally cracked the tiniest smile at that, eyes red and watery. "You big...Idiot." John whispered, his hand going up to cup my cheek. "I wont ever forget those words. I wont forget them coming from you. Not for the rest of my life."

Now it was my turn to be rendered silent. Letting his words sink in, I managed to mumble out a response. "Why?"

"Because I love you too." his head tilted forward, and his forehead rested on mine. "I love you, Sherlock. I have since you gave me that startled, little look upon hearing I was your doctor." 

"Christ, you really do love me." I responded, making us both smile bigger smiles. "I'm going to miss you so much, John."

"I'll miss you too, Sherlock. " he said quietly. "I'll miss you too."

 

Breakfast came too quickly, and after John helped me to dress in proper clothing. While a part of me was terribly excited to be going home and being with my parents again, my thoughts were captivated by my loss of John.

With my walking stick, John kindly offered to bring me to the entrance where my parents would be meeting me in five minutes. We sat beside each other on a bench, thighs touching. Silent. 

But, I couldn't just let this end as such. Turning to John, I spoke quietly. "You know I'm grateful, right? For everything, not just your love, but for helping my health."

John smiled. "I know. I want to thank you too."

"Why?" I asked, giving him a little smile. "What have I done other than give you a few kisses?"

John's smile widened and I watched it spread, my chest feeling warm. "You made me feel happier than I've felt in a very long time, Sherlock."

I was quiet for a few moments, trying not to look so utterly in love with him in public. "You're welcome." 

He glanced over my shoulder, and I knew my parents had walked in. We stood, looking at each other, both our expressions of happiness fading to worry. 

"Will you hug me?" I asked, feeling my chest start to tighten. 

He nodded and pulled me into a strong hug. I breathed shakily, feeling heavy tears start to well up in my eyes.

"No, you mustn't cry, Sherlock." he whispered into my ear. "You don't want them to see, eh? Don't cry. You can do this. We can do this." 

I nodded, fingers curling into the back of his jacket. "You have my address. Don't you dare forget to write." 

John laughed, his breath hitting the hairs on my neck. "How could I forget?" he whispered, pulling back and giving me that smile that had my tummy doing flips for weeks. 

"Goodbye, John." I said, stepping away and taking up my bag. 

"Goodbye, Sherlock." he said back in a soft voice. "Have a safe trip." 

I glanced back at my parents who were smiling, eager to take me home. Then, I looked back to John, my eyes speaking words to him. I love you. 

And his own eyes spoke the same words back to me. "I best be off." he said, giving me a warm smile that I knew was telling me that everything would be okay. John gave a nod of his head and I watched him walk back up the stairs.

A hand landed itself on my shoulder. My mother's. I turned around, trying to give them a smile. Who was I kidding, though? My lips was shaking and my eyes were red. 

"He a close friend, Sherlock?" she whispered softly, voice kind.

I nodded. I didn't know if she would hit me over the head for saying so, or if she'd be one of the few, barely heard of people, who accepted someone like me and John. 

Her smile remained and she rubbed my back. "Don't worry, love." she started to lead me out of the hospital. "The world is a bigger place nowadays. You wont lose contact with him." she assured me, and my father nodded, agreeing with her.

They knew. Of course they knew. I was their son. I saw their eyes on me, and I gave them a watery smile back. A smile of relief. 

"You're my boy, William." My father spoke to me. "Nothing changes that. Now lets get you home, get the kettle on."


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mildly nsfw at the end.

Weeks passed. The war still went on, but I didn't look into it much. Why did it matter?...Okay, that sounded rather arrogant and ignorant of me, but at the time I had desperately wanted to be a lot more distant from the war. It had brought death and pain upon me and I was still rather bitter about it.

 

I was staying with my parents back in my old house. I hadn't taken notice of it when Mycroft was alive, but he had made more noise than I had realised. Because now it was far too quiet. Or maybe that was my mind playing tricks on me. Maybe I was being too melodramatic.

 

I had been writing to John every week. I had never explicitly said to my parents what mine and John's relationship was, but I knew they could tell. I could never hide my smile whenever I got something in the post from him.

 

His letters _always_ made me smile. He never spoke about anything bad that happened at the hospital, even though I knew well that there was many fatalities every week. But, John understood my mentality. He knew, that even though I did care, that due to my current mental state, I just couldn't listen to anyone telling me about all those poor men who were dying every day.

 

Although our letters that we sent were wonderful, and kept me attached to John like I needed to be...It wasn't enough. After a month or so, we both wanted to actually be with each other again. The more dreams I had about John, the more certain I was that I needed to see him.

 

And, finally, after too long a wait, my favourite package from John came. It was just a small note that read;

 

_Get yourself back up to London, mister. I'm on two weeks holiday._

 

_Train ticket attached for Friday 4th. See you at the station._

 

_I love you,_

 

_John._

 

I was packing within minutes of reading his letter. In two days I would see John after a whole month and three weeks of being without him. I remember my mother walking in on me in the middle of my frantic, happy packing.

 

"Finally got the right letter?" She smiled, walking over to refold one of my shirts.

 

"Yes!" I grinned at her. "You don't mind, do you? I'll be leaving on Friday...He says he's off for two _whole_ weeks. I'm assuming I'm staying at his, I-!" I was gushing, so tremendously excited.

 

She was smiling to see my excitement, which hadn't been very noticeable for quite some time. Though, I sensed some hesitance in the way she acted.

 

My smile dropped. "What?"

 

She ran an affectionate hand over my back. "Just be safe, okay? Not everyone will...be glad to see you in his house, love." She whispered softly.

 

She was right, and I had completely overlooked that fact. For a moment, I had lived in a completely safe world. I lived in a world where I wouldn't be murdered for spending a few nights with the man I loved.

 

I looked down and nodded. "I'll be safe. I promise." I said to her. "Trust me, Mum."

 

She nodded after a moment, and pulled back. "Go on with your packing." she said softly, leaving the room with a small smile thrown at me.

 

 

Two days later, I was hugging my parents tightly and promising them I would come back happy and safe. I was barely able to sit still on the train, bubbling with excitement. I wondered if John was as excited as me. I hoped so, and I did believe it was very possible he was.

 

John was a little more collected than me at times, and in other circumstances it was the other way around, but I _knew._ I knew that he would be happy to see me again.

 

When the train arrived in London, I almost couldn't breathe from excitement. John just made me so...happy. He was one of the few who could bring me this amount of joy and he gave me such a wonderful sense of security and warmth. Even in his letters, I could feel him. _John._ He was such a colourful character and I adored him.

 

I pulled on my coat and took up a bag of clothes I had brought. Then, with the help of my cane, I got off the train and started searching with my eyes for John. I struggled at keeping a neutral expression, but I had too. I had to keep mine and John's secret safe. So we could love each other in safety.

 

I was having difficulty locating him and I could feel worry and dread start to spread across my chest. What if...He didn't care as much as me? What if this was a joke to him? No. _No, cop yourself on, Sherlock_.

 

Just as I started to get even more and more anxious, and when I was already near the exiting door, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

 

"Oi, wipe that look off your face." It was John. Grinning. "Think I'd stood you up?" he laughed and pulled me into a light, quick, friendly hug.

 

"No..." I mumbled as we pulled apart from each other. "Okay, maybe a bit, but I've just been so...eager."

 

His grinned widened. I could see it in him. He was definitely as pleased as me. "Well, my apartment is a bit of a walk away. Can your leg take that?" he asked.

 

"Definitely." I nodded. "Lead the way."

 

John took my bag and we started to walk out of the station. "Was your trip a good one? I tried to think of where you'd want to sit on the train, so I hope where I had you was fine."

 

He was blushing and it made me smile as I watched him talk. "I had a wonderful trip, and you seem to know me well. I was bothered by no one and had a wonderful view of scenery the whole time. You did excellently in your choice of seating."

 

My simple comment made him a lot happier than I had expected and I chuckled as the tips of his ears turned red.

 

We stopped a few minutes later outside a tall building. One among many. "I live on the second floor." John said as he slotted his key into the front door. "There's another woman below me, and some chap above, but it's relatively quiet." he said, and we stepped inside. As soon as the door shut, John spoke again. Quietly. "It's safe."

 

I followed John up the stairs, my leg starting to protest a little from all this walking. I immediately felt at home, walking into his sitting room. "Oh, this is cosy." I commented, leaning against the back of a red armchair.

 

John smiled at me. "You have no idea how wonderful it is to see you here." he then said, able to speak freely in the safety of his home. "I wrote so many letters to you in this room, I thought about you so many times." he shook his head at me.

 

"Well, I'm here now." I said, and I remember the smile that lit up his face very well.

 

"Come on, lets put your bag in my bedroom." John suggested. I followed him out of the sitting room to the bedroom, telling myself to stop feeling so nervous. It was just a bedroom. That signified nothing more than _sleeping..._  


 

John sat on the edge of his bed and looked up at me. "Sorry, I know I'm grinning like a big idiot, I just can't believe you're finally here. I've been trying to get time off work for far too long."

 

I leaned against his closed bedroom door and shrugged. "I like your big stupid grin. It makes me feel special." I teased.

 

"Oh, you are special." John stood, walking to me. "You're very, very special." he spoke in a whisper.

 

"It's strange to be with you outside the hospital." I whispered back, trying not to focus too much on how close he had come.

 

"Yeah..." John's hand moved up to play with the curls on my forehead. "It's nice, though. It's good that you're healthier. It's good to be able to invite you here."

 

"I was so happy when I got your letter." I mumbled, amazed at how close John was. We were never able to be this close to each other, this intimate.

 

"Good." he murmured, then caught my eyes. I could tell what he was asking without him having to speak and I gave a nod. John closed the space between our mouths, and my eyes slid shut.

 

I relaxed once we were kissing, having missed the act terribly so. But, the kiss was different now. Because we were safe here. Unseen. Just me and John.

 

John's arm looped around my waist, bringing me closer to him. I leaned my cane against the door frame, wanting to be able to devote more of my attention to holding John, touching John.

 

He kept me up, my back still pressing against the wooden door. Our kiss turned into something deeper, something that I didn't even know existed. I could taste John, I could smell him, hear him. Everything in my senses was just John and it was overpowering.

 

I felt myself being pressed back a bit more into the door, and John's body was as close to mine as it could get. I could feel the bones in my hips pressing against his jumper. He was warm, and despite having never experienced something like this, despite knowing what was about to happen for the first time, I was completely relaxed and content with John. Even though I wasn't quite sure _how_ this would work with two men, I trusted John.

 

"Are you okay?" I felt his breath on my cheek. My eyes remained closed as I nodded, and somehow John's body pressed closer.

 

"Do you want to do this?" he then asked, and I nodded again as I felt John move his hips. What was he doing? I opened my eyes hazily, looking down between us both.

 

The heavy blush on my cheeks made John laugh softly. "Do you want me to show you what to do?" he asked in a kind voice.

 

I nodded, mouth gone dry. John's hands got a gentle grip on my hips as he moved his to line up with mine. He moved forward again and I shut my eyes again, letting out a tinkling, nervous laugh.

 

I could feel his eyes on me, and I looked back at him after a few moments. "I've got you." he whispered.

 

My smile spread a little, finding a small bit of confidence in myself. I kissed him again, everything so tender and perfect. "Show me more." I whispered, forehead resting against John's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to say a big thanks to everyone who voted here in Ireland! We now have marriage equality for same-sex couples! This is a wonderful achievement!


	10. Chapter Ten

I had never been so gloriously happy in all my life. Those days with John, spent in his home, getting to know him even more, falling deeper in love, can never be replaced.

 

He showed me ways to love someone that I had never even dreamt of. He would wake me with gentle touches. His lips, his hands...Everything felt like a dream and I wanted to stay with him forever. I wanted to be able to freeze time. What was the point of having all these years, all these troubles, when I would rather stay in these two weeks for the rest of my life?

 

It was nearing a week of my stay, when I was woken by John wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing just under my ear. He was so warm, and I smiled.

 

"Hello, there." John whispered into my ear, pressed close against my back.

 

"Hi." I whispered back, twisting so I could see John's face. "A very good morning to you."

 

He grinned and kissed my lips. "I have an idea for today. Cause as wonderful as I have found it, being in here every day with you. And all your wonderful kisses... Maybe we could go out today?"

 

My smile dropped a little and I looked at him. "John, if someone...If someone found out about us..." I shook my head. Our week was perfect...Apart from that one fact. I could feel it hanging over our heads all the while. It was terrifying, truly terrifying to think about what could be done to us if someone saw us. One tiny slip up in public and we'd be murdered.

 

His smile dropped too and he looked at me. "We can...I just want to spend time with you, Sherlock." he sounded pained. "We don't have to hold hands in public, we don't have to kiss, I just want to..." his eyes were glossy and my throat was tight.

 

"I know." I whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm just scared. I've never even really entertained the possibility that someone would risk...being with me, and I need to try and stop feeling so guilty about it, I guess-"

 

"Don't ever feel guilty about us, Sherlock." His voice was strong, eyes harder, more determined. "There is noting wrong with us. There's a lot wrong with the world we're in, but us? Me and you? Our _love?_ " John shook his head. "It's _beautiful._ You are beautiful, and we are normal. And we deserve a day out, huh?"

 

Eventually I smiled. Because he wasn't wrong. There was nothing wrong with us. There was nothing more pure in my life than my feelings for John, that was completely true. So, why not? One day couldn't hurt us. "Okay." I nodded. "Point made, doctor Watson."

 

His smile returned and he was kissing me again. I liked our morning kisses, slow, lazy, comforting. I was rolled onto my back and John moved over me, lips never disconnecting.

 

"Is it possible I wont ever get entirely used to this?" I whispered into his mouth as John tangled our legs together.

 

"Possible." John replied, moving against me. I let out a contented sigh and moved my hips in response. "And completely welcome, it would become rather dull if you became so used to this that it wasn't an enjoyable thing to do any more."

 

A sleepy laugh rose in my throat and I held John closer against me, both of us moving rather lazily as the grey light of the morning started to light up the bedroom. "How could this ever not be enjoyable?"

 

John laughed when I laughed and then his lips were on my neck. "You always feel so wonderful." he whispered, his hand slipping between us.

 

"Oh, you're one to talk." I breathed, eyes closing. John giggled loudly, happily.

 

 

We washed up together at his sink, our moods bright again. I was learning more and more about John and his past. He was an interesting man. Both his parents had died when he was young. He had been rather poor, but his wealth went up a little when he and his sister were brought to live with his uncle. His sister, Harriet, had run off years ago with some girl and had gone into hiding. When John had tried to defend her, he'd been sent to a boarding school. At first, he had hated it, but the education had done him well and he was able to study medicine.

 

John took time to also listen to my stories. I told him about Mycroft, and what me and my brother used to get up to. Mycroft's loss was still, and remains to this day, heavy on my heart. But, I could talk about him now. I could remember him fondly. I appreciated how intently John listened, because talking about Mycroft, remembering Mycroft, was the only way to keep him alive.

 

John wanted to show me around to some of his favourite places that were close by to his apartment. I dressed with John dressing next to me, both of us standing in front of his mirror. I found myself smiling, amazed at how comfortable I felt with John.

 

"All right?" he turned to me, fixing my collar before I could. "Today'll be fun. And we'll be safe. If any one asks, you're my cousin from the country. No need to go into further detail. But, why should anyone be asking, hm?"

 

"It shouldn't come to that, don't worry." I promised him. John nodded and leaned up to kiss my lips. "Come along, then. Grab that walking stick, cause there's a bit of walking today."

 

He showed me a few free-entry art galleries and museums. I had been in some already, but that was when I was a child. Most of them had changed somehow and I was happy to return, this time with John.

 

We ate at the Café Royal and John made me eat far more that I usually would. He liked to treat me, and honestly, I liked to be treated. I tried many desserts and I soon had to decline the offer of more.

 

We walked off all our desserts and tea in a few parks that were rather quaint. I had to stop myself from taking John's hand a few times. It was so easy to forget I wasn't allowed when I had become so used to touching John in his home.

 

By the time we were getting close to John's flat, my leg had started to ache and John had no other choice than to wrap an arm around my waist and help me distribute some of the weight elsewhere. We were both smiling, the sun going down outside as we finally got into bed.

 

"Good choice, John." I whispered, ready to sleep. Neither of us changed our clothes, too tired. "Today was so lovely."

 

Rubbing a hand expertly over my thigh to get out the painful knots in my muscles, John kissed by cheek. "You made it lovely." he said, before he shut his eyes.

 

Sleep came easily.

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on how I choose to end the story, this chapter will either be the second last or third last, so do keep that in mind!

Our time was nearly up. The wonderful holiday, full of fantastic new happenings had only a few days left in it. I dreaded leaving John. Surely we would meet some other time, but neither of us knew how soon that would be. We hated how we couldn't deny the fact that this relationship was a rather difficult one to maintain. From having to keep it a secret, to the distance between where we lived, I was starting to worry about whether or not we'd be strong enough to keep it going.

 

But, it was hard to dwell on these negative thoughts when every day I was woken so wonderfully by John. I was amazed at the pleasure he was able to bring to me. He made me crave more. I hadn't known how spent someone's body could be after such activities. I hadn't been aware of some of the noises John was able to pull from me.

 

And John's noises too. They resonated in my head, they added to our passion, only driving me to try and make him feel better, to make him let go and cry out my name.

 

And it was also our more quiet moments. Some mornings, I was woken by warm arms around me, and John pressed against me. Each morning I would be reminded that after this holiday, I would have weeks, maybe months until I would feel such a comfort again, and that always made me feign sleep. I needed to savour this contact for as long as I possibly could.

 

It was on my third last day that things took a turn. I feel like I should have seen this coming. I mean, it was my life. When had things ever been fair? Whenever I received happiness, it was only natural for it to be taken away from me after not too long. Me and John had been so blindly happy to spend our days together. Sure, we knew that the relationship was a difficult one, but for some bizarre reason, we had never really entertained the idea of someone finding out. Of someone finding out and for it to bring danger on us.

 

Of course, this had been an option, but not one we had allowed ourselves to think would ever happen to us. Like, how I knew I was going to go to war. I knew people died in war. But, Mycroft dying had still been a shock.

 

So, when we were woken up at the early hours of the morning by John's neighbour, we knew it could only be bad news. John stuffed me in a wardrobe, on the off chance that his neighbour would try and venture into the house. My own breath was heavy in my ears as I stood as still as I could inside the wardrobe. I heard John walk to the front door and it was opened a moment later.

 

"Mr. Free, hello. What brings you here at such a time-"

 

"Don't act dumb with me, John Watson." His voice was harsh. Oh, God, he knew. My eyes shut, a terrible fear bubbling up in me.

 

John was silent for a few moments more, when he spoke, his voice was quiet. "What do you want?" He paced his words.

 

"I am giving you one last chance. I've heard you. You and your... _friend."_ Mr. Free spat. "Don't try and deny it. It's filthy. It's disgusting how much you choose to divulge yourselves in such _'pleasure'._ "

 

"You're giving me one last chance or what?" John responded. His voice had changed. It was low, gravelly. He was angry. I had never heard him so angry. Occasionally he would tell me off if I said something amiss. He would scold me, but I never felt afraid of his criticism. I knew he was only doing it to help. But, this voice, this quiet and dangerous voice, sent a shiver up my spine.

 

"Or else I _will_ call the police." Mr. Free responded, seemingly unafraid of the tone John was using. "And you know what they do to your type. To _queers._ "

 

The word hit me like a train. I knew what I was, I knew my feelings towards John were as true as ever, but to be actually called such a word was...Surreal. John had gone quiet too, and all I wanted to do was break free from the wardrobe and rush over to comfort him. I wanted to scream in his neighbour's face. I wanted to scream at anyone who dared called mine and John's relationship something wrong. What I had with John was loving, happy and healthy, and it made me feel so peaceful. How could somewhere dare to call it anything else?

 

When John did speak again, his voice had lost that edge. He was suddenly afraid. "Mr. Free, I have known you for years. I nursed your sick wife before she died. And now, just because you find out this slight difference between us, you're going to send the police after me?"

 

Another moment of silence. When Mr. Free spoke this time, his voice was somehow harsher, colder. He didn't care about any previous sentiments he had had towards John. That all went out the window the day he saw him coming home with another man.

 

"You have changed into something I cannot associate myself with. I will give you two days, and if those...noises I've been hearing don't stop, then I will call the police. I will tell them that not only are you having a, if you can even call it this, a _'relationship'_ with a man, but you are also partaking in homosexual acts of indecency."

 

More silence. "Okay, Mr. Free." John's voice was a mere whisper and I had to strain to hear it. He was about to cry, I could tell. There was no point in hiding myself any longer, so I opened the wardrobe door and stepped out. I glimpsed Mr. Free giving a curt nod, before he turned his back on John.

 

I looked over at John through the hall way. He was frozen, unmoving, the door still open. I walked to him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder before I shut his door. John looked up at me and I saw a pain there that I had never seen before. I knew my own expression was similar.

 

He took in a shaking breath, trying to form some sort of response to this. "I-I can't believe-"

 

"I know." I said softly, raising a hand to brush away his tears. "I know, that was really horrible." I gave him a sympathetic sort of look and then let him fall into my arms, heavy sobs starting to leave him.

 

I tried to calm him, tried to quieten him, but the painful lump in my throat was restricting. I couldn't bring myself to speak, because I knew that if I did, I would start to sob too.

 

"I don't know what to do!" John whined, clutching onto me. "My whole life is here! It's not like I can just move away, but... _you._ Oh, God, Sherlock. You are so important."

 

I cleared my throat, attempting to speak. As I had assumed, as soon as words left my mouth, I was sobbing. "I can't...stay." I whispered to him. "I can't stay knowing that I'm putting us in this much danger! I mean, the police, John!" I exclaimed. "You know what they do to us!"

 

John stared up at me, seemingly shocked. "You...You want to...go?" he looked heartbroken and I felt guilt build up in me.

 

"No! I don't want to go! But, I also don't want to be beaten and put in a cell just because I fell in love with you!"

 

"Sherlock, please!" his hands were back at me, grabbing on for dear life. "Please don't go!"

 

"You heard your neighbour, John! I only have two days, and if I'm not gone, you don't know what might be done to us! I can't _stand_ violence!" I shook my head at him, feeling a few tears tickle my chin. "You think I'm going to allow you to be hurt by any?"

 

"So, what? Are we just...Done? Like nothing's happened?!"

 

I whined and stepped away from him. My whole body felt on fire, pain searing through my chest and in my veins. I sat back down on the edge of the bed. "No, it just means that we have to...Meet up in more discrete places."

 

"So, we go on and hide for the rest of our lives?"John followed me back in. He looked furious. I knew it wasn't directed at me. He was mad at the world and so was I.

 

"What else was it ever going to be, John? Of course we hide. But, we hide better than we've been hiding up until now." I answered. I felt aged. At the start of this trip I was young and happy and excited. My experiences with John did make me feel older, but in the best ways possible. I had more knowledge of such wonderful things. But, now I just felt weary and tired.

 

John knelt in front of me, taking both my hands. "Sherlock, what if we're not strong enough for this?" he whispered. "What if...What if it's too hard. I mean, we see other couples. The ones with a man and a woman. They get torn apart by stress. And, we'd have that normal stress, but we'd also have...We'd also have the bloody fear over each other's lives. I..."

 

I could tell what John was about to say and I let out a sob, shutting my eyes as he spoke.

 

"I don't know if I can do that, Sherlock." he admitted, sounding so very far away from himself.

 

I hated my rational mind. I hated that I _knew_ that without a doubt, this was too momentous a task for me and John to take on. Our love was strong for each other, but emotionally we knew we could not handle the task of keeping our relationship a secret.

 

Because, I was a selfish fool. And all I wanted to do was to proclaim loudly to the world that John Watson was mine! He wanted me and I wanted him, and I had never felt such amazing, over powering love.

 

"I don't think I can do it either." I whispered out, looking back at him. The pain in our eyes matched and John knelt up so he could kiss my lips. "I am so sorry. I am so sorry I ever let it get this far-"

 

"No, don't say that." I whispered onto his lips. "I don't regret it. I don't regret us." My breaths were heavy, as were John's, and we seemed to flow with each other, our pain in sync. "You are the most...amazing thing. The most amazing person I have _ever...._ "

 

John nodded fervently, telling me he agreed. "I'm so sorry this has to come to an end." he whispered.

 

We stared into each other's eyes, and I could feel my heart breaking more and more. But, the truth was right in front of us. As much as we loved each other, neither of us were emotionally ready to have such a secret relationship, in fear of being caught constantly.

 

We stayed like that for a while, looking at each other, our arms winding around one another. We let ourselves calm down, let ourselves have these last few hours of our love, of our affection for each other, before we would part ways.


	12. Epilogue

And life moved on. It was dreadful at first, obviously. I almost felt as if John had fallen to the same faith as Mycroft. He was gone from my life, but I never stopped thinking about him. He was always there, a loud reminder at the front of my mind. 

...Then eventually a little further back in my mind. Still there, but not as pressing as before. I was flexible again. I could grieve and move along with life at the same time. With my limp, I had thought the jobs offered to me would be limited, but it appeared that my intelligence was too outstanding for my employers to overlook. 

I went to college. I studied chemistry and I moved along a little from the trauma I had been through. Eventually, I became used to living in a city, and when I had graduated I moved to London. John was a lot more on my mind those first few weeks of living in London. A part of me desperately wanted to bump into him, but what good would it do? Another affair, another realisation that this was too difficult to continue, another heartbreaking departure? But, London is a big city. And I never bumped into him. 

And despite everything I have just said, yes, I was very bitter about never seeing him again.

After college, and once I had settled in a cosy flat in central London, I decided to set up my own business as a consulting detective. As my name became more and more famous in newspapers and through people telling (usually exaggerated) tales of me, I often wondered if John heard of me. I hope he did. Because, I knew John worried for me. I knew he was anxious to know if I could fit in and make a life, and maybe if he had heard of my job he would have been given some consolation. 

As the world progressed around me, I saw more and more people like myself and John. People who were brave enough to be with each other boldly and express their love. It was dangerous. It was almost foolish of them, but I thought so very highly of these people. Another war came and went and life moved too fast. I became an old man. I was alone. I didn't mind it much, but it would have been nicer if I had managed to stay with John. Even after so many years had passed, at night I would close my eyes and imagine us growing old together. And, it was in those moments that I hated myself for not being as brave as the young people like us today.

As I grow older, John has come to the front of my mind again. I see him, still young and happy and as in love with me as I was with him. Thinking of John makes me feel lonely, but he is also a comfort on the nights were loneliness strikes hard. I can remember with perfect detail what it felt like to be with my doctor and it soothes the ache.

Currently, there is a letter laying on my bedside table. There is to be a memorial event open to everyone who fought in the first world war. I had scowled upon being invited to such an event. Why remember such a dreadful time? 

There are two 'John Watson's on the list of all those invited. Maybe this was my chance to be brave. 

**THE END**


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